In land of enemies
by Barbol
Summary: Twelve years after the War of the Ring and the fall of Sauron, a new threat arises in the East for Gondor.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

"They say a strange mood has taken over the Queen today. That she looks to the North and sighs." His voice filled the silence that the whispering of branches and green leaves couldn´t quite dispel. Soon it turned provocative. "She has finally succumbed to the eccentricity of her people, worthy daughted of the Eldar, and went to talk to the plants."

Arwen laughed and tilted her head to let her husband kiss it. Aragorn sat by her side in the stone bench.

"I speak with the East wind," she corrected him.

"And what does it say?"

"Nothing. It comes alone."

Aragorn sighed silently and turned his gaze to the Pelennor Fields, hundreds of feet below them. Arwen studied the creases of his forehead and his distracted eyes.

"Didn´t the session go well?"

"Dol Amroth and Lebenning are thrilled with the species and the fruits from Harad. With the chocolate especially. They are already preparing another trade agreement."

"Why that face then?"

"There has been another attack."

Arwen frowned, copying her husband´s expression. It was the third attack of Rhun's forces that winter. North Ithilien and Anorien were on the edge of despair. The evacuations had already started. Minas Tirith had taken in most of those who hadn´t been able to live with the fear.

"And what…?"

Aragorn answered before she could finish the question.

"Two burnt houses, five dead men, stolen grain stock… and two men and a girl have disappeared."

Disappeared in Rhun's slave market. With those three, it had already claimed thirty men and women from Gondor. But neither of them said anything. It was one of the aspects of that issue that most worried Aragorn. "It must be one of the worst fates for a man born free," he had said to his wife after the first attack, upon learning the fate of some citizens of Cair Andros, disappeared as well. "Imagine the indignity of being sold like an animal. Being someone´s property and obey his will in everything. Never see your loved ones again… and be unable to decide your own fate."

Arwen had insisted that they should do something for those people, order the Khan to free them or risk a war with Gondor. But they had never discussed their fate.

"More troops must be sent," said Arwen.

"I have already given the order. Tomorrow two more companies will leave" said Aragorn, and went silent.

Ah, but Arwen knew her husband too well and knew there was more. He looked at him waiting for the rest of the story. Aragorn, feeling her gaze, said:

"Each time more and more are in favour of the war. They say it is time to stop being two steps behind Rhun and that we cannot allow one more attack. That we have to send the army."

"But you are not yet certain."

Aragorn shook his head.

"I would do anything to spare Gondor any more attacks but we don´t know yet that the Khan is behind the attacks. He may still uphold our Peace Treaty and the attackers may be rebels. If I bring them war, I will cause more death and destruction than necessary."

"And doesn´t the Council think of the lost lives in case of war?" Arwen asked, puzzled.

"Yes," her husband answered. "Of course they do, but they think that it would be a war that we would win easily, that our army is superior in both discipline and techniques and that they have more to lose. And they are the lives of our enemies. Rhun has always been an evil for Gondor; many families are broken thanks to them. And they are right. Who would choose to save the lives of his enemies and condemn his people?"

Aragorn turned his gaze towards the East. The dark mountains of Mordor could be seen In the horizon, and beyond was the incandescent Rhun, with its deserts of fire, its palm trees and cypress with their smell of the sea breeze and juicy fruits, with its children running happy in the sand. And also with its streets and fields filled with slaves surrounded by their ragged and shabby prole that waited to be older to follow their parents to the same fate of slavery. But even they elevated their voices in songs of honour to that land. Rhun was the country of the blinding sun that inundated everything with energy, that only needed a small spark to erupt and let all of its hatred for Gondor escape. Those were his most vivid memories of his journey to that land. It was the home of his enemies, those who were killing and selling his people. And he was doing barely nothing, through his inaction he was allowing it. What if he sent the army? What if he brought them war, and through a total defeat forced them to stop attacking Anorien, and Cair Andros, and North Ithilien? What if he had already done it? How many lives could he have saved?

Arwen guessed quickly his thoughts. A dozen years of marriage had made her the greatest expert on the mind of the King. She held firmly his face and said:

"These attacks are not your fault."

"I know. Someone has to think about those poor people if the Khan doesn't. If in the end it turns out he is behind the attacks."

"Your ambassador will have to tell us when he comes back."

Aragorn nodded absently. Amdil had departed for Num in November. His mission was to reach the Khan himself and demand an explanation and reparation for the attacks on Gondor. Verify that he still honoured his part of the Peace Treaty, in which case he would punish the attackers and return the stolen people to their country. Aragorn had decided not to ask for monetary reparation for the stolen food or the destroyed properties. It wasn't a life or death matter for Gondor, but it could very well be for Rhun, that in many provinces was bordering poverty and knew hunger too well. But for that he needed Amdil to come back and tell him that the Khan didn't sanction the attacks. He had set off with diplomatic protection; his safety should be respected in all of Rhun's roads.

But it was mid-February and they had no news from him. He had, in all likelihood, perished. Rhun's hatred for Gondor was like a violent fire, and any traveller from Gondor was in danger in its roads. Nevertheless, formally, they still had a Peace Treaty signed after the fall of Sauron. Formally, Amdil's safety must be guaranteed and the Khan receive him with due hospitality. However, in all likelihood, he had never reached Num, and had been killed or enslaved on the road, or the Khan had never received him, in which case, Aragorn would have to consider it an act of war. And yet, he wasn't ready to give up hope of his return.

"Will you come tomorrow to the Council session?" He answered his wife instead. "They are more willing to calm down and change their minds when you speak."

Arwen smiled, leaning on his shoulder. Every new attack to Gondor was like a dagger to her heart, but thinking that she would have to let her husband go to war was almost more than she could bear.

"Of course," she answered.

Aragorn put his arm around her. His hand rested on her waist and his thumb caressed briefly, unconsciously, Arwen's stomach, who suddenly understood. Of course. The talk of war, and the possibility that the King could risk his life would have, inevitably, led the minds of the Council to the lack of heir to the throne, and to comments that had, years ago, stopped being discreet hints. One nobleman, with the best of intentions and glass of wine in hand, had dared to give the King a multitude of suggestions to impregnate his wife. The blessed topic had even made its way to one memorable Council session that Aragorn had left enraged.

"They have said something again." Arwen sat up and looked to her husband.

"About what?"

"Our child. Or lack thereof."

"How...?"

"We said we would pay no mind to what was said. Let them be in a hurry, not us."

"I'm not in a hurry anymore than you."

Arwen smiled and pointed her finger at him. "Well played, Dunadan."

And there was a good portion of the problem: they were both impatient; but they would rarely say it out loud to avoid putting any pressure on the other.

"When they'll come, they'll come," Aragorn said. The sentence they have been repeating for years. But this time it seemed he had made a small change.

"They? How many will come?"

"Five or six."

Arwen laughed, with only a hint of panic on her voice. "Obviously, it's not you giving birth to them."

"They'll come when they come," he repeated, and then smiled looking at her. "Which doesn't mean we have to wait for them idly."

And suddenly, Arwen was in his arms and he had turned in the direction of the Tower.

"Now?" Arwen gasped. "But if we didn't even have dinner and..."

But he didn't let her continue, and started climbing the stairs that led to the terrace that opened from their rooms.

Aragorn had always kept open the sessions of the Council. Lords of all regions and fiefs of Gondor, and governors and mayors of even the smallest village could at any time attend or send representatives to the Court and participate actively in any Council session. For one to be held, it was necessary that at least a dozen chiefs claimed it. That day twenty five asked for it, and it was necessary to get installed in the Throne Room.

Aragorn walked in with the Queen in his arm, and immediate silence ensued. Imrahil and Elmir, Lord of Anorien, sitting respectively to the right and left of the head of the table, where Aragorn sat, withdrew the chairs from the table and offered them to Arwen.

She went to the right and took the chair that Imrahil offered. She ran her eyes over all the twenty five participants with a dazzling smile.

"Gentlemen. It has been too long since the last time I joined your councils and thought it was time to rectify it."

"It is an honour, Lady, as always," said Imrahil moving the seat next to hers.

"I am certain that, as in my previous experiences, we will reach important agreements for the Kingdom, thanks to the wisdom and honour of its chief mandataries."

Maybe only an outside observer would have noticed the slightly straighter backs, or the eyes oozing pride, but Aragorn knew what to expect and perceived the change immediately. He hid a smile. He knew that the Council would always respect his final decision, whatever it was, but he wanted them to understand his reasons. And for that, nothing better than to let Arwen speak to them. Every word she said was received by the men like a drop of water in the desert, and they always bowed to her desires.

For Aragorn, it was truly a pity that Arwen didn't participate more in the Council sessions. She had more experience, wisdom and eloquence than all of them put together. After her thousands of years in those lands, she knew more about good ruling, commercial routes, taxes, treaties and agreements than any. Elrond's daughter had helped her father for hundreds of years, and apart from his knowledge, she had inherited his compassion and his justice. In Aragorn's opinion, Arwen alone would have ruled Gondor much better than any King in its history.

But despite Aragorn's insistence, she rarely got involved in government discussions. "I have a few, precious years with you," she said, "and I think it is a waste to lock myself for hours to argue. As far as I have seen, most of the discussions of Men in times of peace are about how to reach this or that other goal, and amidst all the fervour, you forget that deep down you all want to reach the same goals."

And since she had nothing to prove to anyone, and she knew it, only when it was about Healing or Lore she would step in so the past wasn't forgotten and to ensure the future of both sciences in Gondor. But she never refused her husband when he asked for advice, which was often, and the Council didn't know how many of the ideas and projects they discussed were really hers, that reached them through the King.

Suddenly Aragorn realised that they were all waiting for him to sit down to start the session, but he looked to his wife so she was the first to sit down. No man would be sitting while she was standing.

As soon as they were all seated, Aragorn turned to his secretary.

"The order of the day, Amrod. Thank you."

As soon as he read it Aragorn felt the first stab of premonition. This would not end peacefully.

"Rhun," he said out loud. There was no other topic. "Has there been any news?"

"No, Sire," answered Elmir. "Nothing apart from the last attack."

"But we believe that yesterday much was left unsaid," added Caerdhros, son of the governor of Cair Andros. His town was the most damaged by Rhun's incursions, and though it was the first time he set foot on the Court, he had enough aplomb to state his opinion firmly in every Council session.

"Like what?" said Aragorn.

"We are deeply grateful for the reinforcements that you sent, Lord, to strengthen the Northern borders, but we fear it is not enough."

"They always attack during the night and by surprise, and it is very difficult to foresee their assaults," Elmir intervened. Anorien had also been a victim of the attacks. "Defensive actions are not enough. No matter how fast we react, there are always damages: a destroyed house, reserves of food stolen or, in the worst cases, dead sentries, missing people... If we don't react more decisively, they will think that they can attack us with impunity, and they won't stop doing it."

"A more decisive reaction," said Aragorn, "would be to take the army to their lands. An armed invasion would make the last of their men able to carry weapons come out and meet us in combat; and right they would. How many would die then? From Rhun and Gondor; we would both lose."

"Before solving a conflict with the aid of the army," said Arwen, and her soft voice spread across the room like a breeze, "we must explore all the other possibilities. Gondor and Rhun have still a Peace Treaty. As far as we know, these attacks are made by rebels. In fact, their clothes and weapons don't indicate that they are soldiers in the service of the Khan. They would seem radicals possessed by an irrational hatred towards Gondor, or people in need, or they wouldn't steal food.

Arwen made a pause to let everyone think on her words.

"That is an aspect that we cannot forget," she continued firmly. "In the last two years Rhun has suffered severe draughts that have damaged their harvests. The last reports said that in the poorest regions, where they barely had reserves of grain and cereals, the children and the elderly have begun to starve. A war would increase these problems; if men go to battle, who would sow and harvest? If we bring them war, the roads and communications would close down, trade would diminish, and the regions with no crop fields and that depend on the harvests of the rest of the country would be left without supplies, without food. Innocent people.

Her delicate features were filled with commiseration. Her silver earrings sparkled on both sides of her head, making the glow of her eyes penetrate on the hearts of her listeners, and all felt invaded by sympathy.

"The Queen speaks wisely," said at last the Lord of Lossarnach. "We must think on the lives lost in case of war. If we don't care to think about the population of Rhun, let's think on our soldiers. Shall we send them hastily to their deaths and condemn their families to grieve?

He had a son in the Fourth Company, and all in the Council knew it. But still, they saw sense in his words.

"In my opinion, it is a matter of knowing where the Khan stands," said Imrahil. "If he has allowed, even encouraged the attacks, we cannot fail to respond. But if he is against them, then undoubtedly bringing them war would be a tremendous mistake."

"You are right, Imrahil," said Aragorn. "That's why I sent an ambassador."

"But he hasn't come back," Caerdhros said. "And he should have already. We should at least have received word from him if he had been received by the Khan, especially if he is still in favour of keeping the Peace Treaty."

There were murmurs of approval to his words.

"We cannot know that with certainty," said Aragorn, but even to his ears his words had lost conviction.

"And neither have we heard from our spies in Rhun?"

That the King had spies in Rhun was a badly kept secret. In fact, Aragorn didn't believe that even the Khan ignored it. But who and where they were and what were their identities only Aragorn knew. And he wasn't going to say it, but he hadn't had word from them in months, which meant that two of them had failed to deliver their report.

"No," he answered. And he was going to say more, but in that moment, against the protocol that forbade interrupting a Council's session, the doors of the room opened.

And like conjured up from his words, Damrod, spy in the service of Elessar, walked in.

Aragorn got up brusquely and crossed with big strides the room to meet his man, dirty with the road's dust, grey-faced and with darkened cheeks, covered by a tangled beard that didn't hide the emaciation of his gaunt features.

As soon as he reached him, Damrod began to bow, but Aragorn stopped him.

"Don't even think about it," he said. "Are you all right, my friend? Are you wounded?"

"No, just more exhausted than I can remember."

"What do you bring me?" asked Aragorn with apprehension.

Damrod reached inside his jacket pocket and drew a piece of paper. Aragorn took it and read it.

Meanwhile, the Council looked at them, trying to guess who that man was and why the King attended to him so urgently. But not even Arwen knew him and she shook her head to those who looked at her expecting an explanation.

When the whisperings of the Council rose in volume, Aragorn turned to them and walked back to the table, letting Damrod lean on his arm. He signalled that he should sit down on an empty chair at one end of the table, but he remained standing.

The Council fell silent, waiting the King's explanation, but Aragorn didn't say anything, studying the paper for a few more minutes. At last, he said these words:

"Gentlemen, this is Damrod, who I sent years ago to Rhun so that he could, from the shadows, gather information, and inform me, of all the movements in that country's politics. Listen now to the contents of this letter that he intercepted from a messenger of the Khan himself."

 _"_ _In Num, on the 19_ _th_ _of fie of the twelfth year._

 _Honoured Soldam, First Captain of Rhun's Glorious Army,_

 _I am pleased by your news, and I rejoice in learning the devotion of our soldiers. Encourage these feeling and we will have an unstoppable force in battle._

 _At last the hour of glory approaches. Tonight light the fires, drink and celebrate because your wait is over. Go to the Valley of Sat and wait for us there. We will arrive at the end of next month at the latest. And then we will march together and triumph._

 _May the Great Eye guide your steps._

 _Hamrazan, Khan of All Rhun."_

For several minutes, silence reigned in the Room. It was Elmir who broke it.

"This is the proof that we needed. The Khan is mobilising his troops to invade Gondor. We have to react. We must go and meet them."

"He nowhere mentions Gondor," said Aragorn sternly. "And first we must listen to Damrod's tale before drawing any conclusions. Tell us, how did you intercept this message?"

"Sire," answered Damrod bowing his head. "Twenty days ago, my identity in Num was exposed and I was arrested. Only the help of a good friend saved me. He got me out of the city, but he could not give me a horse, without which I could never cross Rhun's desert, alone and with barely any food or water. After a day's march, I assaulted a rider to steal his. Only upon mounting and getting ready to leave I realised that it was a messenger in the service of the Khan. I searched him and found this message. I came here as fast as I could."

Daedhros of Cair Andros stood up.

"Have you infiltrated Num itself? Then you must know what the Khan intends, if we consider that this letter is not proof enough."

Damrod looked at him. How little that boy knew the effort it required to learn a drop of information in Rhun's merciless desert! And he dared to demand something from him?

"Do you think the Khan speaks before someone other than his closest councillors?" he answered. "When they gather, no one can come in, not even the slaves to serve them. And he severely punishes those who let something slip. How do you think I could learn anything of what he intends?"

Daedhros wasn't intimidated by his fury.

"One would think that a spy has more resources and that even if he can't hear, he can still see. There are always behaviours that give away."

He spoke with the impetuousness of youth and concern for his town, and his words came out from his lips like an accusation. Then Damrod, who for years had been hiding his feelings, lying and pretending that his loyalty was with Rhun and burying his feelings for Gondor in the depths of his heart, where no one could see but where it hurt to hide them, stood up and with vibrant voice said:

"Would you like me to tell you what I have seen? I have seen the signs and paintings they make in Rhun's walls of the Tree surrounded by flame; I have seen the performances by their actors in the city's squares, dressing up as soldiers of Gondor and as..." he hesitated for a moment and looked at Aragorn, but decided to continue: "as thee, Sire, and they perform our defeat before the cries of glee of the spectators." Then he stopped. Maybe he had gone too far and been disrespectful to the King. "I'm sorry, Sire, I..."

But Aragorn stopped his apologies with a gesture and motioned for him to continue.

"I have seen," Damrod continued, "how each year the temple in honour of He that we saw forever destroyed takes form. And they burn part of their harvests and the meat from their animals to please him and ask for his help to recover the glory that Gondor stole from them. To their eyes, we are guilty of all their misfortunes.

"If they do that only, I at least would be at ease," Imrahil said. "For little can their superstitions harm us."

"Once a year," said Damrod with hard voice, "they ask all the owners of Gondorian slaves to give up one for their sacrifice. They kill them before the temple, in front of everyone."

Silence fell and no one found the words to break it. Until then Aragorn had remained impassive: he knew Rhun's practices and the reawakening of the cult to Sauron, and his spies had informed him of the rising hatred against Gondor and against himself. They considered them, and him in particular as merciless conquerors full of power lust. They had defeated Sauron, who had promised them riches and glory, that Rhun would be the great empire at whose feet the entire world would kneel overwhelmed by a reverential fear; and now they were crawling in misery. The draughts of the last years had awoken their fear and despair. But Rhun's was a people too proud to be dominated by fear for long, and rage had been born from fear. And the fury had fed the fire of hatred for Gondor and its King.

But Aragorn had never heard that Rhun made those human sacrifices, and the Council saw his face contort and pale, and they started to whisper.

"Do we need more evidence, Sire?" said Elmir out loud. "The army..."

But Aragorn didn't let him continue.

"Do you know anything of their armed forces?" he asked, turning to Damrod. "Where or how many they are? Something that indicates that the khan is amassing them to invade us?"

Damrod sat then and, full of shame, fixed his eyes in the solid, dark table before him.

"I'm sorry, Sire, no. Nothing more than I have already said."

"Where did you find the messenger?

"In the mountains of Num. He was heading West."

Aragorn looked at the letter. _Go to the Valley of Sat and wait for us there. We will arrive at the end of next month at the latest._ The Valley of Sat was a great expanse of flat land fifty miles to the northeast of Gondor's border. Someone who wanted to travel between any point in Rhun to Gondor would almost necessarily have to pass through there, or very close. It was an excellent place for the Khan to reunite his army if he wanted to invade Gondor.

"Answering your question, Elmir," said the King at last. "Yes. We need more information. Give me a day. And tomorrow at this time I will have made my decision. This session has ended."

And saying this, without waiting for anyone's response, he strode to the door. Little by little, the Council members did the same and exited the room. Arwen walked amongst them, answering their greetings, until she reached Damrod, who immediately stood up.

"Damrod," she said, "come with me. You will be a guest in our house. I will order immediately for a room to be prepared for you and food to be sent."

"Lady, don't bother on my account," answered Damrod, but he followed the Queen until they encountered a black-clad servant that had walked to them.

Arwen gave him instructions to provide to Damrod all he could need, and then asked:

"Did you see where the King went?"

"He walked in the direction of your rooms, Lady."

"Very well, thank you," answered Arwen, starting to head off that way. However, she turned back for the last time to Damrod and said: "We are in your debt for the services you have given. As soon as we find the right moment, you will receive just honours."

Damrod opened his mouth to answer but Arwen had already gone. She walked quickly to the rooms that she shared with Aragorrn and she found him in the dressing room, changing his clothes. His rich silk and satin robes formed a dark stain on the floor, and he had put on riding pants.

"Arwen, do you know where are my brown tunics?"

"With your leather clothes. All your comfortable clothes," that's how he called them, the clothes he used when he ventured out of the city, although Arwen knew that he preferred the contact of his silk ones, "are here."

Arwen took one from the chest and gave it to him.

"Where are you going?"

Aragorn put on the tunic silently, slowly.

"I need a day of retirement," he answered.

Arwen nodded her approval. He would go to the mountain, to the sanctuary of the Kings, whose use Aragorn had recovered.

"I thought you were going to look into the Palantir."

Aragorn looked at her with a smile. Arwen wouldn't have been so direct before. Before, when she hadn't learned the value of time, when she didn't know what it was the haste and urgency to carry out a multitude of tasks in a time that slipped through the fingers, her conversations would go round and round in circles until they reached carefully a difficult topic. And the use of the Palantir was one. They argued about that almost always. When Aragorn looked into it, he ended up exhausted, dizzy, his mind assaulted by an agonising whirlwind. The memory of the evil the stone had hosted remained still, and he had his own terrifying memory of Sauron himself pouring all his malice in him. He tried to conceal the fear he still felt, but Arwen was witness of his nightmares and she said that any information he could gain wasn't worth it, that the usual sources were enough. Aragorn said the contrary but he used it less and less.

He finished dressing up and stepped close to his wife, kissing her firmly. Each day he felt closer to her. She had learned to love him in so many ways. Now, and without looking, she set straight the lacings of his tunic, caressed his chest and raised her hands to his neck, holding him when she felt he was going to move away.

When at last the kiss ended, Aragorn, keeping a slight smile in his lips, said:

"Maybe I'll have to use it when I come back."

Arwen frowned and stepped back.

"I suppose you know what is best."

And they said little more. Aragorn walked to the back of their rooms, where a green tapestry of northern valleys and forests hung. It hid a small door that could only be opened from the outside with a key. To the right, over the mantelpiece, behind some books, was the key. When Aragorn had showed her the door, which led to an exit in the mountains, Arwen had said that the key didn't have the best of hiding places. But they hadn't thought of a better one.

They said good bye with a quick kiss and Aragorn, taking a lamp, went into the narrow passage which, a mile and a half later, would end in the southern slope of Mount Mindolluin.

* * *

This is a translation of my original, Spanish story, which is way more advanced but not yet finished. English is not my first language, so any mistakes reported, as well as opinions are more than welcome! I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I have writing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

The rest of that day, all night, and most of the next morning, was spent by Aragorn in that refuge whose use was only allowed to the Kings, located at the end of the snow-covered slopes that crowned the Mountain. He kneeled on the hard ground and reflected on the actions that he should take. He didn't eat or drink anything; neither did he sleep and he barely moved from his position, and by mid-day of the second day he believed to be ready to take his decision.

And to look into the Palantir.

* * *

He came back to the Citadel through secret roads, and when he uncovered his face before the guards that watched the room where the Palantir was kept, they did not show either surprise of relief, despite the clothes he wore. Apparently it had not been made public that the King had left the city. Arwen must have been able to keep it secret.

Then he consulted the Palantir and could make his decision at last.

* * *

Arwen had remained most of the time in their rooms. When both of them, King and Queen, were together in the privacy of their rooms, servants, attendants and errand boys were always more reluctant to enter. And since both of them preferred that Aragorn's occasional outings were secret, Arwen had said that the King wanted to stay in isolation in their rooms to make his decision in peace, and she had remained in most of the time to make sure that the servants didn't come in and discovered the King's absence.

But it had not been an easy day, alone in the immense rooms filled with so much silence, and thinking that likelihood was that they would be like that for many months, if her husband left for war.

When she heard a noise in the little room by the study, where they put all the things they didn't use regularly, she went quickly, knowing that her husband was back, because a servant wouldn't have entered without due announce.

She found him keeling with his back to her, in front of the oaken chest. It was a gift from Gimli, and was exquisitely carved with a Tree crowned by stars and surrounded by runes. The inside was covered with burgundy velvet that enfolded the King's long sword.

And when Arwen saw him lift the sword with reverence, she knew that her husband would go to war.

Without having to turn around, Aragorn knew that his wife was behind him and that she knew what he would do. Slowly, he unsheathed the blade, reading the intricate runes carved in it.

"There is an army of seven thousand men heading to the valley of Sat," he said. His voice was like Anduril's steel, clear, cold and hard. Like the enemies that had faced it, Arwen shivered.

Aragorn stood, with the still naked sword in his hands reflecting light on his face.

"Do you remember the day Razzham left back for Num?" he said, but waited for no answer from his wife. "I went to his house the night before, in secret." For a moment his lips curved into a smile, remembering his friend. "And we spoke for a long while. He said that the eleven years he had spent in Minas Tirith had been the happiest of his life, except for his childhood. I don't know what he saw here, but he left convinced that Gondor and Rhun would one day reach true peace, that we would get over this mutual distrust that threatens constantly our relations."

Razzham had been Rhun's ambassador in Minas Tirith. After signing the Treaty, Aragorn had expressed his wish to the Khan of stronger relations between both countries, and had suggested the possibility of a constant ambassador in the court of Gondor. The Khan, leader of a defeated nation, hadn't been able to refuse, and Razzham, his sister's son, had been chosen for the position. He turned out to be the appropriate choice. In less than a year he had fallen in love with Gondor and its ways, and sent continuous reports to his uncle in favour of forming a solid alliance between both countries, commercial and economic, if not military.

But in Rhun the rumour that he had remained as a hostage to force the Khan to obey the terms of the Treaty had spread. Why otherwise wasn't there an ambassador from Gondor in Rhun? Aragorn had suggested it to the Khan, but he hadn't answered, not even considered the proposal, which seemingly hadn't reached the ears of the people of Rhun or its mandataries. Upon finding out about this, Aragorn had asked his friend to go back to Num to refute the rumour and reaffirm Gondor's offer of friendship to Rhun.

He had left a year ago, but they had received no news from him in Gondor.

"What would he think of all this?" he spoke again. "Has he changed his mind about us? Will he be saddened when he learns that I will lead my army against his country? Will he be in the files of enemies to take down?"

Arwen didn't answer and Aragorn kept silent for several minutes. He turned back his gaze to his sword, and with a quick flick of the wrist, he wielded it firmly, letting it point to the ceiling.

"For too long my sword has been kept in the dark, and I languishing in sumptuous halls. Anduril wasn't made to shine in the only two wars it has seen. It won't lie useless any longer."

His wife looked at him. The silent torment of the last months had disappeared. For better or worse, her husband had made his choice and Arwen saw that he had reached peace with his decision.

He then turned to her, sheathing his sword, and for a moment they were only husband and wife sharing the same heart and the same pain for the war that would tear apart so much, and their gift of foresight made them feel the suffering that was to come, for the briefest of moments.

But Aragorn blinked and lowered his gaze to his sword, securing it to his belt.

"The Council must be already waiting," he said, and extended his hand towards her. "Will you come with me?"

Arwen took his hand and smiled softly and sadly to the man that she so loved and answered:

"Always."

* * *

It was again in the Throne Room where the Council's session took place. On their way there, Aragorn ordered the first guard they saw to call all who were not on duty and to go there. And when he crossed the great doors, he said that they should remain open, and the servants who were close should enter.

The noblemen and governors began to whisper. Some stood to see the King in the multitude, dressed with leather clothes and riding boots, and covered with a dark cloak, heavy and made for being out in the open. The soldiers and guards remained rigid and scrupulously silent, without breaking position, but without losing sight of the King. The servants and attendants looked all around, uncomfortable.

They all felt immediately the change in the air, similar to the charge that a storm brings. The hundreds of people gathered in the Room looked around, whispered and wondered why the King had opened the session of the Council to those who were not part of it. But deep down they knew that it could only mean one thing.

Aragorn remained silent at the feet of the Throne, waiting for the voices to hush. When finally silence reigned, he stepped forward and spoke with clear voice:

"May the Council members excuse me if I broke the protocol of the session, but I have something to announce that everyone should know. Or better still," he said, looking at all who were present, "let's not consider this a Council's session. Today we will make no distinction of class or occupation. From today on, the great equaliser of men approaches, what takes us to the same destiny."

The silence was complete. Not even the children of the noblemen and servants, or errand boys said a word. They didn't understand what the King said, but they stared fixedly at him, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Death will call some of the children of this country," the King continued. "From now on we are at war with Rhun."

He fell silent, waiting to hear exclamations of surprise, of sorrow, receive questions, accusations, to be asked for an explanation. But no one spoke and all continued to stare at him, expectant. Suddenly he felt a heavy weight on his chest. No one protested. They trusted that he had made the best choice. No one asked him for explanations. They trusted that if he had to give them one, he would. It was a sweet burden, but a big weight to carry.

"An army with the Khan's insignia is coming close to Gondor," he finally said. "I can't know for certain that their intention is to attack us, or try an invasion, but given their recent behaviour, I can't take any risks. We will go and meet them."

He stepped closer to the table, putting aside his cloak. Anduril shone fiercely as he walked.

Arwen followed him with her gaze as he walked away from her, but stopped paying attention, absorbed in her thoughts. She heard him vaguely talk about Cair Andros, the army and Faramir, and was startled to find people leaving. When only the King remained with a few nobles she walked to them to say goodbye.

"Tell Ingold to go to the maps room," Aragorn was saying to a boy, who quickly ran away.

"Will you begin now the plans and preparations?" she said when she arrived.

All bowed immediately before her.

"Time is short, my Lady," Imrahil answered.

"Will you join us?" Aragorn asked, looking expectantly at her.

But Arwen avoided his gaze, looking instead to the noblemen with a flattering smile.

"I see brilliant strategists here," she answered, "so for today I will devote my time to other tasks that demand my attention."

Aragorn frowned slightly, but Arwen exited the Room. She noticed quickly that all the gazes turned to her and sighed. She would have preferred at that moment to go to the sanctuary of her rooms, but she raised her head and went from group to group; she spoke to the wives of the noblemen, encouraging those who, like her, would soon be bereft of their husbands; she smiled and put her hand in the heads of the children, who didn't understand what was happening, but knew that it was something bad; she directed firm words of valour to the guards and soldiers, and she let everyone see in her high head, her proud chin and her shining and confident eyes that Gondor would be victorious. She let everyone look at her and remember why they must fight for.

* * *

The maps room had long and high walls covered, as the name indicated, with maps. They pictured all regions of Gondor, in every scale. The window that looked to the southwest let a shining light in, even in the last hours of the evening. There were two big tables at each end, one of which was covered by maps. The shelves, with the maps and least used books, and the cabinets with the geographical tools were low so as not to cover the maps of the walls.

The big oval table was now covered with maps of Rhun and Gondor, especially the northern regions. There waited Ingold, General of Gondor's Army, and there walked Aragorn with Imrahil, Daedhros of Cair Andros and Elmir, Lord of Anorien, who was an outstanding strategist and a captain of renowned valour in battle, and had manifested his wish of marching against Rhun. Amrod, Aragorn's personal secretary, went with them.

Aragorn didn't waste time and went straight to the matter at hand. First of all, they needed to know how many men they could count on.

"There are nine hundred men listed in Lossarnach," answered Ingold. "Twelve hundred from Lebennin, fifteen hundred from Lamedon. From Anorien and Dol Amroth..."

"Two thousand in Dol Amroth," answered Imrahil.

"And three hundred more in Anorien," added Elmir.

"At least one third, if not half, must remain as defense, especially in the north," said Aragorn, walking around the table, with his gaze fixed in the painted regions before him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Ingold, but adding the Rangers of North and South Ithilien we have five hundred more."

"Plus the two thousand soldiers of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath."

"And five hundred more in Cair Andros," Daedhros intervened.

"That makes little over six thousand," Aragorn calculated, "if we want to leave Gondor with enough protection. So we will need to conduct a levy, ask for volunteers and for Rohan's help. Rhun's army has little cavalry, that at least is an advantage for us."

He remained quiet for a moment, studying the southwest of Rhun in the map before him. With his fingertips he caressed the Valley of Sat, where the enemy would gather.

"But they fight in their territory," he continued. "And so it must be, because we will not let them step foot into Gondor.

"Lord," Ingold said. "Will you go yourself with the army?"

All looked to the King. He had barely participated in any battle after the war with Mordor. He had been persuaded that his life would be in unnecessary danger, and that his presence was indispensable in the Councils of Minas Tirith.

"Yes, Ingold," answered Aragorn. "And not only that, I will lead it myself. And I want you to stay here, in charge of the forces that remain as defence. Your presence will be necessary if our campaign fails.

"Amrod," he said turning to his secretary, "call the scribes and draft the letters to send to all the regions of Gondor and to Eomer. Leave blank the number of soldiers I call to arms and the date of gathering. I will fill that as soon as I decide how many I need from each region, and if it is necessary to wait for those who come from further away. Add that it is necessary that they take care of the supplies for the journey to Cair Andros, at least.

"Daedhros," he continued, "I had thought that we should leave from your city."

"Sire, of course..." Daedhros started.

"Good," Aragorn nodded. "Have the letters ready in an hour, Amrod, and bring them here. And before that, send a message to the Houses of Healing: ask the Warden to send me a report of how many healers and medicines he can spare."

Amrod rushed away, and Aragorn turned to Ingold.

"I also want a report on the weapons and machinery we can use, and their state, as well as the smiths that can come with us. First thing tomorrow I will go to the armoury, so tell them to prepare."

* * *

Aragorn returned from the meeting with his Captains when Arwen had not yet finished preparing his _athelas_ infusion. She knew he had looked into the Palantir and during the next hours he always experienced strong headaches. In her hands the leaves released all their virtues, and could calm her husband´s spirit and mind. The palantir was difficult to dominate and always demanded a tribute in exchange for information: a great loss of energy, pain of the spirit, disturbing memories...

The door opened and closed forcefully, and Aragorn walked in, inhaling immediately deeply.

"Smells good," he said with a smile. He didn't look as affected as the other times. He strode to the table where his wife was and looked over her shoulder as she poured the boiling water from the pot to the mug. "Is that for me?"

"Of course it is for you," Arwen answered, blowing gently on it. "But be careful, it is hot. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Actually there wasn't much to do today," her husband answered taking the mug. "Thank you. Or not much that shouldn´t be postponed for tomorrow. As soon as we decided the day and place to gather the army we were able to send the messengers to..."

"When will it be?" Arwen interrupted him.

"In a week. In Cair Andros."

For a moment, the only sound was Aragorn's blowing on his drink to cool it down, but as soon as he saw his wife's discouraged expression, he lowered the mug to speak.

"One week?" repeated Arwen.

"The Khan is less than two days away from the Valley of Sat. The day after tomorrow they will be there. They will wait for the rest of the army, the companies that Soldam leads. Since he didn't receive the order, he is late, but that only gives us five more days, I think," he shrugged. "That is the distance I could judge in the Palantir, but I can't be certain. And yet, those five days could make a world of difference to us. Thanks to Damrod," he sighed with relief, but soon his expression turned dark. "In nine days we could have Rhun's army in our borders."

He took the mug to his lips, but burned his lips and tongue. He put the drink on the table and looked to his wife, awaiting her response. She was still with her back to him, partially turned towards the window, through which she looked.

"You still haven't said what you think of my decision," he said. If she was upset with him, he would rather receive her disapproval openly.

Arwen walked around the table and sat on the couch under the window, looking at him.

"You still don't know if the Khan plans and invasion or an attack on Gondor. The Valley of Sat is also a good place from which to attack... Rohan. The Dead Marshes are between Sat and North Ithilien, or Anorien."

Aragorn walked around the table and leaned on it, crossing his arms.

"Do you really think that?"

"Would you wage a war based on the belief that it is impossible?"

"No," answered Aragorn. "Which is why I will send a parley petition to the Khan before engaging in battle. I want to hear from his lips his true intentions, listen why he wants to attack us. Why now."

Arwen nodded, relieved. She would never have allowed her husband to declare a way if it could in any way be avoided; if the decision were not between defending themselves or letting the enemy raid their country."

"And will he accept?" she asked.

"I will make sure he does," her husband answered. But he was no longer looking at her. He turned his face to where the setting sun shed its last rays, which spread across the room, turning everything into gold and fire: the walls, the ceiling, his clothes, his face... "And if he was behind the attacks, if he has gathered his army to attack us... he will answer to me. He shall offer reparation for every death, every slave they stole, will pay for any damage done to my lands and my people. No one attacks Gondor with impunity."

"And have you considered..." began Arwen cautiously, "has any of your captains or councillors suggested that it be another who leads the army? Imrahil or Ingold, for example. They did advise you to keep away from the battles of Ithilien," she reminded him.

Aragorn hardened his face, remembering the shame of staying in the safety of his Citadel while others went into battle. There were too many bands of Orcs and men that wandered in secret and could attack by surprise, and his safety could not be guaranteed. However, he had consented to remain behind, knowing that he was not indispensable in Ithilien, but in Minas Tirith. And because, after a long war that had not ceased since his youth, he had been tired of the fight and the death.

"They have," he answered. But this time he had not listened. He wasn't a senile King that had to stay at home while others with limbs still strong went to defend their home, their people and land. He had vigour yet in his arms to wield a sword and skill to lead an army in the chaos of battle. He felt nothing but admiration for those who had reached the age of wisdom and had turned their backs to the war and the weapons, discovering at last that there are stronger forces that move the world. He knew it too: his father had showed it to him with his words and his life. But he still had not experienced it; he still felt the desire to go out to battle, to feel the union with the mount under his thighs, the power of his sword in his hands, the strength running through his veins.

He turned to his wife, sitting at her side.

"But not this time," he said. "This time nothing will keep me away from the battle, even if it's not in the first lines."

His guttural, grave voice caressed Arwen's ears. She knew that this time there would be no way to contain her husband. Not in vain he had his ancestors' fiery blood in his veins: the blood of Isildur, of Elendil, of Elros and of all the warrior Kings of the Dunedain. She looked to his eyes and saw the iron will in the gray depths, and shivered. She loved peace. She detested the Men that always had to fight and whose pride and power lust were so easily roused.

But she would be lying if she ever said that her husband's warrior spirit didn't spiral her into a whirlwind of excitement, admiration and desire. There was power in him, a power she could not help but feel: not even Sauron himself had bent his will, or the Ring corrupted him. She felt safe with him; safe and loved.

* * *

The next day, as dusk fell, Faramir arrived with his family from Emyn Arnen. When the King left his land, the Steward stayed to govern in his stead until his return, and occupied his place in the court of Minas Tirith.

He arrived in the midst of the commotion of Minas Tirith, where the news of war had inundated everything: the words, the silences, the looks, the smiles, the weeping, the work, the rest. The hugs of the soldiers' families, the fall of the hammer on the steel of the weapons they would carry, the rush of those who had to prepare the food and the supplies. Messengers and errand boys ran here and there, carrying news and messages, and giving themselves airs of importance.

The high corridors of the Citadel were a moderate replica of the city streets. The servants tried to eavesdrop on the conversations of the King and his captains to bring some news to their families and friends, and his assistants worked without rest carrying out his orders, and the noblemen tried to get involved in all the decisions he took.

When Faramir arrived, he was immediately received by the King and Queen in person in the red hall, where they received the visits of close family and friends.

"Thank you for coming so soon, Faramir," Aragorn got up and went to greet them. His wife followed him.

"Needs must, my Lord," answered Faramir gravely, clasping the arm that his King extended.

"I hope I didn't cause too much disturbance with such short notice," Aragorn looked to Eowyn.

"You didn't, my Lord," she answered. Her youngest son, a year old, moved restlessly in her arms, trying to observe everything around him, and she held him carefully, but was evidently tired from the journey.

"Here, let me take him," said Arwen quickly, taking him in her arms.

"Your rooms and your dinner are ready," said Aragorn. "Faramir..."

"Is it true that you are going to war?" Elboron, the eldest, stood to his full, nine-year old height, and fixed his eyes on the King.

"Elboron..." his mother began.

"Yes it is," answered Aragorn.

Lameth, their middle daughter, four years old, hid behind her mother's skirts and put her finger inside her mouth, scared.

"And can I come?" Elboron said.

"I'm afraid you are too young," his father told him.

"Dambold went," answered Elboron. "And he is only twelve."

"Not with me," said Aragorn. "With me, pages need to be at least sixteen."

Elboron frowned at him, and Eowyn opened her mouth to admonish him and tell him to show respect to the King.

"Don't worry, Elboron," Arwen spoke before her, and extended her hand to stroke comfortingly Lameth's hair, getting a smile out of the scared child. "You will have a great time here. You have many children to play with, and I'm sure your father will show you the hideouts he used as a child."

Elboron began to tell her excitedly of all the places that he used in Ithilien to play, but Aragorn took Faramir aside and said:

"Would you mind coming to my office after dinner? I need to put you up to date with several things. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."

Faramir nodded and stayed late with the King, putting some order in the matters that he would leave unresolved.

* * *

The next day everyone was in a frenzy, and no one had a second's rest. During the day, Aragorn met with his captains to continue forming their plans and let Faramir occupy his office and study the reports he had left him. At night he joined him to solve all his questions.

"... and these are Anorien's taxes," said Aragorn. In front of him a pile of documents recorded the money collected from the provinces. "Now, these are the estimated expenses from the war that Ingold and I have made. We will have to meet them with the money raised this year and the next. Only if you see that the burden is too great, leave a part for the taxes two years from now, but try not to borrow. Before doing that, take something from my income. I will be away and Arwen doesn't need much..."

His voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat. He had spent all day making his orders heard in the middle of the chaos and all the activity around him, making decisions and taking care that they were followed, and all that without leaving the corridors of the Citadel. A day's march on his horse would have been less exhausting, letting the wind caress his face and releasing all his pent up energy. He rubbed his eyes.

"I estimate..." he continued.

"Aragorn," Faramir interrupted him. "It's almost midnight and I have dealt before with tax increases. I know where and how it must be done. I will stay here a bit more, going through all this in case I don't understand something and so I can ask you before you leave, but you should retire now. You leave tomorrow."

Aragorn sighed and leaned back on his chair.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't you want to spend this night with your wife?"

Aragorn looked to the piles of documents on the table.

"You don't know what a relief it is to know that you stay here," he said with a smile.

"All right. But go now."

Aragorn laughed softly, standing up and walking to the door.

"Thank you for everything, Faramir," he said, exiting the room.

* * *

Upon arriving, Aragorn saw that their rooms were almost dark, lit only with two candles. He searched for his wife, and found her sitting by the great picture window that opened to the terrace, illuminated by the moonlight.

Aragorn removed his boots and socks. It was the first thing he always did, preferring to walk barefoot, like his wife. Most of their rooms' floor was covered by rich carpets.

He walked over them, seeing, before Arwen hid it, her anguished expression on being alone the night before her husband went to war.

But she looked smiling at him and said:

"Did you have much work? Have you eaten?"

"I had dinner with Faramir," her husband answered with a kiss on her cheek. "And you?"

"I ate with Eowyn and the children," she answered merrily. "And little Boromir stood up."

"Had he not done that before? Isn't he old enough for that?"

"Yes, but not for so long. And we believe he will start walking soon. Today he took a step."

"Did he?"

Arwen laughed. "Actually, we held him and moved his legs a little. Elboron said we were cheating. He is a very bold child and never hesitates to speak. And Boromir... he is very sunny. He laughs at everything," she took her husband's hands and looked down. "Don't you think it is the world's most beautiful sound? A baby's laugh. I don't get tired of listening to it. And yet it crushed my soul every time I hear it."

She let out a sob, but quickly brought a hand to her mouth. She didn't want to cry, not in the last night her husband spent with her. She didn't want him to have a sad memory of that moment.

Aragorn quickly reached to her and held her in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Arwen said. "I don't know what came over me. I thought I had dealt with this already."

Her husband opened her mouth to comfort her, but realised he couldn't find the words, so he remained silent and hugged her.

Arwen closed her eyes and heard, in the distance, a grating noise. Screams. Horse hooves. Blows of steel. Swords. She smelt the blood. And before her a battlefield appeared. She saw Gondor's banner, flowing in the wind. Would her husband be there? But suddenly, the noise, the chaos and the violence disappeared and she saw a dark piece of land, illuminated by the moon, with rough scrawny bushes, and rocks, here and there. There was one bigger than the rest.

It wasn't a rock, it was a body. A corpse. And she would have recognised the shape of that back among hundreds. She was hugging it now.

A surprised gasp of pain escaped from her, but she shut her lips quickly.

"What's wrong?"

Arwen opened her eyes to her husband's worried face.

"Nothing," she said quickly. She took one of Aragorn's hands and kissed it with a smile. "Forgive me. I don´t know what is the matter with me tonight, I'm not myself. But forget it, it is not important. Come on, let's go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day."

* * *

 **Rs1** : Thank you for your review. I will try to continue the translation of the story as often as I can. I hope you keep enjoying it!


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The sun had not yet risen, but Aragorn was already dressed. He would later put on his armour and his war attire; for now his simple tunic was enough. Arwen was in her bathroom; he could hear the faint sound of the water as she washed.

When she was dressed, she found him standing still in front of the great window that opened to their terrace, with his back to her.

"Aragorn! Don´t you have things to do? To organize, with Faramir, with Imrahil? What are you doing here?"

Her husband didn't turn around at once; he took his time, and when he faced her, Arwen saw that his features were dark and thoughtful.

"What's wrong?"

"Have you had some foresight about this war?"

Arwen remembered immediately the images that she had seen the night before.

"No," she lied. "Have you?"

"I'm not certain. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I feel a great darkness, a great oppression. Here," he touched his chest. "But maybe it is only fear." He extended his hand to his wife.

Arwen went to him.

"I go and leave all this in your hands, my love. Take care of what I love most in this world, after you."

"Aragorn, Faramir will take your place in Court."

"Yes, but you will be the one to keep Gondor united."

Silence reigned between them.

"Foresight?"

"I don't know"

* * *

Minutes later they knocked on the door. It was Ingold and Imrahil with shining chain mails and their cloaks waving in their wake. They were already dressed, knowing they wouldn't have time to do it later. They claimed the attention of the King to supervise the last preparations before departing. Aragorn turned to his wife. Unlike him, she had also put on the dress she would take to the farewell ceremony. The black velvet skirt moved languidly with each step, and the bodice had silver threads that shone under the silks covering her shoulders and arms. She was breathtaking, solemn and radiating light, and a soft and warm energy that could embrace the whole country.

"I'll see you later?" said her husband.

Arwen nodded, watching him go. From that moment on, she wouldn't have her husband to herself for many months. She finished dressing up, placing the mithril diadem.

She went to the kitchens to make sure that the supplies for the journey were ready, and supervised the workers moving them to the carts. She went to the stables and made sure that they set apart those who would haul the carts with the supplies, medicines and the rest of the baggage, as well as the big catapults and war machines that would go with the army.

In the armoury she found her husband, who was going back to the Citadel to arm himself. They shared a look and briefly held hands, and Arwen stayed, after receiving a thankful look from Aragorn, to speak to the soldiers and officers there and offer words of encouragement.

* * *

Aragorn's chainmail was elvish, light and resistant. Over it they put his black breastplate with the Tree, the pauldrons with silver lines and the rich cloak. His page, Hamir, also helped him put on the vambraces and greaves.

"Are you nervous, Hamir?" asked Aragorn, who hadn't stopped observing the boy while he dressed him.

He looked to his King and shook his head.

"Yes," he said instead, with a small smile. Although he didn't realise it, he stood a bit on his tiptoes. "It is my first campaign."

Aragorn smiled and helped him fasten one of his vambraces.

"I was eager as well the day I set out for my first patrol. I was a couple of years younger than you, more or less," he remembered. "To be honest, I have lost part of the excitement with the years. War is an ugly business."

"I know, Lord," answered Hamir.

Aragorn had seen him one day training with the other boys to enter the Royal Guard, or become an Army Official, depending on the results of his instruction. After a stroke of intuition, he had seen that Hamir could one day be Ingold's successor as Commander of the Army, the highest rank after his own. That day he had decided that he wanted him close and made him his personal page.

"But it is an honour to accompany and serve your, Sire, in war or in peace," Hamir, on his knees, fastening the greaves to his legs, looked up and smiled at him. He quickly stood up and went to take a small chest on the table at his side.

"I will put that on him, Hamir," a new voice intervened and the Queen walked into the room.

Hamir bowed to her and handed the box. Inside was the Elendilmir. The men would see that it was no soldier who would lead them, but their King. He wouldn't carry a helmet in the farewell ceremony, and he couldn't carry the heavy Crown either. The Elendilmir, however, would remind everyone of the day he had arrived in the ships of their enemies and all had hailed him as their King.

Arwen placed it carefully on his brow, but didn't let him go. She kissed softly his hair above the stone and then studied his face. Twelve years of marriage weren't enough for her to get tired of his glances and his kisses. She still felt time in the manner of the Elves, and those years had been little more than a breath to her. They had passed like a summer's evening, calm and free of cares. Too fast. She should get used to view time in the manner of mortals and make the most of each day with her husband.

She had one last moment with him. She leaned in to place a kiss on his lips, but in that instant, they heard steps approaching, and they stepped away.

"Sire, several ropes in the catapults have broken. And it turns out, several horses have no shoes," Ingold rushed in.

Aragorn answered calmly, barely looking away from his wife. "Have the smiths fix it during the journey, we need to take with us as much as we can."

"Sire," nodded Ingold. "Everything else is ready, and the soldiers are ready at the gates."

Aragorn was tempted for a second to kiss his wife, but he hesitated. They were being observed and they waited for him. It was time to be King, not husband.

"Let's go," he said.

* * *

The trip to the City gates was slower than they foresaw. The streets were full of people waving, shouting words of encouragement and praise, and giving them flowers.

The King left the Citadel with the Queen, the Steward and his wife, the army officers and the Royal Guard, formed by a hundred men who would remain by his side at all times during the campaign. They walked slowly through the streets, receiving greetings and flowers. The people cheered and praised the King Elessar and the beauty of his wife, the valour of the soldiers and the glory of Gondor. Not one person in the streets had any doubt that their King would bring them victory.

In the fields, before the walls and the gathered army, Faramir kneeled before Aragorn to receive the rod of the Stewards and swear to the safekeeping of the kingdom while he was away.

At his side, before the King and the officers that would go with him, the Queen stood. She would bow before him and make a similar oath: she would promise to look after his home -his city, his country- until his return. But instead, the King knelt in front of her and said:

"I swear no enemy will violate the peace of our home. Rhun will never set foot in Gondor."

The people in the walls and the army behind them had until then kept relative silence, broken only by ceaseless whisperings. Women talked of how handsome the soldiers were, and of the dresses of the Queen and the Princess of Ithilien; the men talked of the numbers going to war, and the weapons and their state, and calculated the chances of victory.

But the moment the King knelt down, all fell silent, only to resume their comments more loudly.

The Queen, surprised, could barely react and take the cup they handed her to offer to those who would depart. At last, she gave it to her husband, who drank and gave it to Imrahil. Ingold, who stood next to the Queen, was the only one who could see the single tear that feel from her pupil to his lips at her husband's gesture.

Then the officers and the King mounted again, and the standard-bearers flew the banner with the Tree and the Crown and the Stars. They were in a little mound that allowed them to see all the companies gathered there.

The wind started to whistle. It moved the clouds towards the mountains, grey and low. They enveloped the peaks, ready to drop their torrent. The wind carried the smell of ash.

The Queen looked to the East. She could hear her husband speak and felt the vibrant energy he was rousing among the soldiers, awakening their valour. But in the East, over the Mountains of Shadow, a tiny red disc shone. It didn't move or grow at first sight, but it caused her unbearable terror. Her husband was in danger. He should not leave. She was tempted to hug him close, feel him alive against her.

He finished his speech and looked at her, expecting to see in her eyes pride and encouragement, but instead he found fear. He trusted the instincts of his wife above the well founded opinions of many men, and he knew that she must have had a foresight. He questioned her with his eyes. What had she seen? What should he do? Was that war a mistake?

But Arwen realised that she could not let her husband go with doubts in his heart. He must depart confident in his victory, because only then he would return. She hid with some difficulty her anxiety and smiled at him. He immediately reciprocated. But it was too late anyway. He had turned his horse, spurring him towards the vanguard.

He left, and his army followed him like a terrible thunder, singing his victory.

* * *

Two days later they arrived at Cair Andros. The governor, Daedhrion, father of Daedhros, had received orders to clear the bridges that crossed the river and led to North Ithilien.

Although he had followed the orders, they could all immediately sense that something was wrong in the town. Daedhros, overtaking the royal retinue, rode to his home.

"He should wait for you to enter first," said Imrahil to the King.

Aragorn smiled at him. "I know. But I think he felt that his duty to his family and town is stronger than respect to the protocol."

Three streets later they found themselves before the governor's home. The streets were silent, with few passers-by, swiftly walking towards their houses. The big square before Daedhrion's residence was however full of servants walking here and there, whispering hastily. No dignitary came out to receive them.

"What is going on here?" Imrahil looked everywhere.

Aragorn signalled for his Guard to stop. The rest of the army had followed Elmir to Ithilien, to make camp there, but the King would spend the night in the house of the governor. He looked around, searching for the lord of the house, or his son. He avoided the gazes of his Guards, stern and serious. For the last few days, he had been closely accompanied by these hundred men, feeling at all hours their gazes, and feeling how they tensed every time his horse sped up, increasing the distance between them.

He knew that his decisions to march to war without an heir had caused great apprehension. Many would have forbidden him to leave, if their confidence in his skills as a soldier with proven experience were marginally lower; or if they hadn't known that it would have been useless.

However, he was continually watched over by a hundred guards. He turned his head to them. Answering his gaze, some raised their heads, covered with shining helms. Those men would step between him and his enemies without a second's hesitation. They would die for him and consider his life well spent.

He wouldn't pay them with recklessness in battle.

"Sire!"

A man with black livery walked towards them.

"Sire," he said, bowing before Aragorn. "I'm Imloth, the personal secretary of the governor. I am deeply sorry that he could not come to receive you personally, but he is not home at the moment."

"Where is he? Did something happen?"

"I fear it has, Sire. His daughter went missing yesterday."

"Missing? Has there been another attack?" asked Imrahil.

"No, Lord. She went yesterday with his maid to the meadow by the river, in the border with Ithilien. It is a very popular place for those who like to ride, like her. But she didn't come home. Neither have they found any traces.

"How old is she?" asked Aragorn.

"Sixteen, Sire."

"She is old enough to act sensibly if lost. Does she know the paths to come back home?"

Imloth shrugged. "She had never gotten lost before."

"We should go look for her," said Aragorn, looking to the east. He turned to Imrahil. "Make sure that my Guard has a place to sleep tonight. I will take a dozen of them to the search."

He crossed swiftly the town, and found a great number of men looking in the big meadow. It was surrounded by small cloves of pines and oaks, under which the search continued. But not even he could find any trace before the night fell: the terrain was covered by the tracks of those who had come out to look for the girl. He didn't say to the anguished father, but any tracks the missing women could have left were gone.

* * *

The soldiers from Anorien, Lossarnach, some regions of Lebennin and Dol Amroth, and of course Cair Andros, were ready to depart the day after the arrival of the King. In total, they added up to little more than four thousand men, and yet Aragorn was loath to wait for the rest of the army. Falcons with messages had arrived. His summons had been received, but the soldiers from the coastal regions would need another week to arrive.

A message arrived that caused great distress: Eomer could not send them any help. His armed forces were greatly reduced, and they were having trouble in their own borders.

"We should wait another week for the rest of the army. If the messages are correct, four thousand men more will come. Enough to face the army of the Khan. We cannot confront him with less." In the empty hall of the governor's residence, who had left again at dawn to search for his daughter, was the king with his officers. Even Daedhros had joined them, declining to go in search of his sister.

"The Khan's army must have already arrived to the Valley of Sat. All of it," answered Aragorn. "Maybe the Khan will give them one or two days of rest before marching against Gondor, since many come from far away, but they could arrive to Ithilien before we can intercept them."

That the Khan would reach Gondor through Ithilien was their most logical guess, and all seemed to be unanimous in this. However, Aragorn would have wished to have the Palantir with him. He had debated the issue with himself and Arwen, and had decided to leave it safely in Minas Tirith.

"Anything could happen," his wife had said. "It could get lost, or fall in the wrong hands... Who can gurantee its safety in the middle of a battle? Could you face a battle after consulting it? With one of those dizzy spells that you often get?"

It would have given them invaluable strategic and tactical advantage, but Aragorn had allowed himself to be persuaded that his spies were well trained.

"The Rangers of Ithilien are unmatched in furtive actions. They will gather all the information you need."

He had sent them ahead of the army to locate the forces of the Khan and, if they could learn of his plans. But to reach the Valley of Sat they would need days. And he had to make the decision now.

He fixed his gaze on the map before them, tracing with his index and middle fingers all the routes between Rhun and Gondor. The Dead Marshes lay between them; either they circled them around the west, through Emyn Muil, to reach Anorien; or around the east, through Ithilien. This route was the easier, and would take them faster to Minas Tirith, if they truly intended to invade Gondor. Unless they crossed Mordor.

Aragorn considered it. However, he knew what he would do if he were in the Khan's position: he would pass through North Ithilien. There were few settlements there: only isolated villages protected by wandering Rangers: they wouldn't stand a chance before an army.

"Here," he finally said, pointing at some clear marks to the northeast of the Dead Marshes. "The Rocky Pass. They are an abrupt region that can only be crossed through one path, surrounded left and right by great rock formations. If we arrive there before them, we can stop their progress, even if our army is inferior. We can camp here, in this plateau," he signalled at a clear area to the North of the Pass, "and await there the rest of our men."

It was a risky plan and all could see it. They objected, but finally only Imrahil was left counselling caution. Elmir and Daedhros had already lost much; especially the latter, who didn't make any effort to hide his anger. They didn't want to wait any more to face Rhun at last.

* * *

That day two companies more arrived from Lebennin. Aragorn left written orders for the rest for the army, when they arrived. He asked Imrahil to remain behind and lead them until they joined them. However, the Prince refused, for he feared that his influence was the only thing that balanced the desire for reparation and, why not say, for revenge of Elmir and Daedhros. He trusted the King's good judgement, but considered that Elessar took often great risks and that luck could one day abandon him.

"Very well," answered Aragorn. "The highest rank officer can lead them. It will only be until they join us."

He left their position clearly explained in detailed reports, finished the supervision on the correct state of the weapons and machines; and they left the next day without ceremony. Not even the governor went to make his farewell, because he was still immersed in the desperate search for his daughter. Aragorn ordered to alter their route towards the east, spread the files of his army and send groups of scouts, in case any could find a trace of the missing girl. But his search, like her father's, bore no fruit.

The army marched swiftly. They King was anxious to reach the Rocky Pass before the Khan. He regretted again not having with him the Palatir, because no explorer had come back to inform them of the Khan's position, or whether they had already left the Valley of Sat.

On the third day they left behind the Mountains of Shadow, and could make out in the distance the Rocky Pass. Aragorn ordered to increase their speed, consumed by the fear that the Khan could cross the Pass before they arrived to guard them.

The next day a fiery storm fell on them. They sky darkened at mid-day, pouring a torrent on their heads. The rain battered down forcefully, the horses panicked and reared, and the carts sunk in the mud that in patches covered the ground. However, the thunder and the rain drowned the screams of men and the neighing of the horses.

In those conditions they had to cross the Rocky Pass. His captains tried to dissuade the King: those rocky formations were treacherous. The rain made the rocks slippery, the lighting could hit the peaks and release an avalanche over their heads.

But Aragorn was feverish. They couldn't delay. They couldn't risk arriving late to the other side, o all would be lost: they would face the Khan's army in an open field, and their army was half their enemies'. They needed to reach the Valley on the other side, with the Rocky Pass behind them, and with his army having the upper ground, in case they were attacked by Rhun. It wouldn't be the King of Gondor who started the battle: certainly not while their numbers were inferior, and not while there was the slimmest hope of solving this peacefully. He was still determined to parley with the Khan before anything.

Half a mile away from the end of the Rocky Pass, the storm began to abate. The clouds parted and the passing was easier. They arrived when the last rays of sun still clutched at the wet ground, piercing the air with the tenacity of a stubborn survivor.

In the distance before them, in the great valleys that the light of the sun could not reach, blocked by the tall peaks behind the army of Gondor a dark spot moved slowly towards them, like an ant looking for food. Here and there, little orange lights twinkled. Torches.

It was the army of the Khan, two leagues away from them.

* * *

They camped in the largest plateau. To their backs lay the Rocky Pass, stretching for miles to their left and right, impossible to cross except through the narrow pass that they had used, and that they would guard at all costs. The soldiers, setting up the tents and watches, cooking the night's meal, grooming the horses, moved silently, oppressed by the shadows of the rugged crags behind them, and by the unexpected proximity of the enemy, very superior in number, as was evident to all.

In his tent, adorned with rugs and tapestries with the Tree and furnished with tables and upholstered chairs, and a bed covered by furs, the King met two Rangers from the White Company. It was necessary to deliver a message to the Khan to arrange a parley. Aragorn himself handwrote two copies, asking the Khan to meet him one hour before mid-day, the next day, at the crossing of the Three Roads, where the East and the South Roads met. One was an extension of the great Road of Rhun, which crossed the country from east to west, and the other started from this same road and led to Mordor. It was opened only eight decades before, after Sauron returned to Mordor and resumed his ancestral relations with Rhun.

It was approximately mid-way between both armies, and Aragorn knew the area well. He had walked through these regions in his hunt for Gollum. He was less familiar with the interior of Rhun.

He wrote that the escort that accompanied the Khan, if he so wished, wasn't formed by more than two dozen men, but the parley would be between them two. At most, two officers could accompany him. The King of Gondor would set up a tent beside the brook by the crossing, and wait there for the Khan. The escorts of the two men would remain outside shooting range from their meeting point.

He gave a copy of the messages to each of the rangers. One of them would ask for a direct audience with the Khan and hand him the message. If this failed, the other would infiltrate the enemy camp and place the message in the Khan's bed.

If Aragorn had learnt something in this travels through Rhun, it was that they admired valour and courage, and if it bordered recklessness, all the better. That was why he knew that the temerity of delivering a message infiltrating an enemy camp would impress the Khan enough to give them the parley he wished.

The matter was to choose the best ranger for that task.

Aragorn would have gone himself, since it was nothing he hadn't done before, but he knew that as King, the risks he could take were severely limited. He had received good references about Damung, and would trust him for the delicate task.

Handing them the finished messages, Aragorn said: "I cannot guarantee your safety. I don't know how the Khan will react to this attempt to organise a parley. Maybe his soldiers will try to attack you, be careful. At the slightest attempt, run. If this happens, all our hopes rest with you, Damung."


	4. Chapter 4

I know it has been a long time since I updated this story, but I do hope to have more time now to continue with the translation. To anyone who is still interested in the story, I apologise it's taken so long. Hopefully this chapter will make it up. It´s been one of my favourites to write, because it´s where the two enemies have a sit down and talk.

To Katie: thank you for your review, and I hope you will continue to enjoy the story.

As always, any thoughts and comments are welcome ;)

 **CHAPTER 4**

"A messenger from Gondor has arrived. He wants to speak with you."

Hamrazan looked up from his rice dish. He wiped the ostrich sauce in his fingers, fixing his eyes like coals on the guard that had just entered his tent, aware of the man's terror. Since his earlier outburst, everyone had been careful to avoid him. That soldier must owe something to someone.

When his explorers had come back that afternoon with word that Gondor's army was blocking the entrance to the Rocky Pass, the Khan's anger had erupted. That year he had been especially careful to discover all of Gondor's spies in Num and deal with them. Despite this, one of them had been discovered and locked up, but managed to escape. He'd had help, no doubt, but it had been impossible to discover who had done it. And the messenger he had sent to Soldam had been intercepted, costing his army a four day delay.

And now, King Elessar was there, standing in the way of his passage to Gondor.

Upon receiving the news, his fury had consumed him. Hamon, his Commissary in charge of discovering Gondor's spies, was presently in Num, but his son Yamon was with them, in the Second Infantry Company. His father, and everyone, must see that mistakes must receive just punishment, especially when they compromised Rhun's victory. Yamon had been expelled from the army and received the mark of shame. His right eye had been torn out, his tongue cut; he was only half a man now; seeing only half of what he should and unable to speak; little more than a beast now. May his father, on receiving his son like that, cry for his failure.

"What does that messenger want?" answered the Khan.

"He says that he brings a message from his King, who ordered to deliver it to you in person and come back with your answer."

Hamrazan had tripled the guard on his camp, and ordered all to be alert and ready in case their enemies attacked that night. He didn't think it likely, since the moon was not full enough, but it was possible. He hadn't expected the King of Gondor to send them a message before attacking, and this oddity pierced through the layers of burning rage that still consumed him.

"Bring him to me," answered the Khan, thrusting an almond in his mouth.

"With your leave, Lord," the soldier's voice trembled, although his body was still erect and firm. "The messenger says that he will only enter out camp if his safety is guaranteed. Otherwise, he will wait for you to go to him."

Hamrazan stopped mid-chew. He'd never have expected that audacity. It didn't belong to a messenger, who thus risked not delivering his message. It must have been his King who had ordered him to act like this. Didn't he really care to deliver his message? Was it a distraction manoeuvre? The Khan fought for a moment between suspicion and curiosity.

"Very well. Disarm him and bring him here. Don't harm him and tell him that I ordered it thus. If he doesn´t trust your work, he can go back the way he came."

But minutes later the same soldier came back with the messenger. The note he brought was simple and short.

"Your King wants to speak with me before any attack?"

Gondor's messenger remained stony.

"He trusts there is still some way to avoid bloodshed."

That simple sentence, pronounced with such sobriety, fired again Hamrazan's wrath. Did Elessar expect that he, after amassing his army, after stirring their desire for victory and hatred for Gondor, would drop his weapons, turn around and go back home empty-handed? Never a man from Rhun put down his weapon. He must die with it in the battlefield or lead a living death in shame and dishonour. Maybe the King of Gondor was capable of such cowardice, but the Khan of Rhun would never commit such a low act.

He studied the messenger, trying to discern a trap. But that man averted his gaze and his features showed only disdain. The Khan knew very well what the men of Gondor thought. After the War, during his stay in Minas Tirith, he had received many looks like that. The men of Gondor despised Rhun strongly. They saw them as uncivilised, cruel and savages. There could be no comparison in their eyes between the Khan of Rhun who rejoiced in war and destruction, and their precious King Elessar, who had brought them peace.

That was what that messenger thought.

With hate shining in his eyes, the Khan crumpled the note. He had given his word that he would not harm him and wasn´t going to dishonour that. But if he hadn't, he would have gladly taught that arrogant man a lesson: he would make him forget his pride and make him learn that in a country that fights to rip your dignity off you, nobility can't exist.

"Tell your King," he said hoarsely. "That there will be no parley. Tell him to prepare for war."

At last the messenger looked at him and the Khan cursed inwardly at him, because although he tried to show no emotion, his eyes showed revulsion at his barbarity.

"Get out of here," he said with barely an echo of voice. "Before I revoke my order and your safety won't be guaranteed."

At last the man showed a sliver of fear and the Khan's fury was calmed when he hurried out. He finished his dinner, which had grown cold, and ordered more wine. After two glasses, a soft warmth spread down his limbs and his anger subsided.

When he was finally ready to go to sleep, he found on his bed a new note. Opening it, he read it and when he finished, started to laugh.

* * *

The next day he ordered Soldam and Hamilcar to accompany him to the parley with the King of Gondor. As was requested, he left his guard a good distance away and rode alone with the other two towards the canopy the King of Gondor had erected. He, too, waited with two officers, and his own guard was also a good way away. But Hamrazan knew not the two officers that were with the King.

Him, he hadn't forgotten. After the Great War, he had negotiated with him their Peace Treaty, and he hadn't changed in those twelve years. He still had the same piercing gaze under a straight brow. On occasion, he had felt greatly perturbed by those eyes that seemed to pierce the flesh and reach the deepest spaces of one's mind.

They continued to observe each other until the silence couldn't be stretched any longer.

"Shukrani kwa ajili yakuja," said Elessar suddenly.

Soldam and Hamilcal turned suspicious eyes to the King, and the Khan smiled inwardly. He had also been surprised in the past by the versatility of the King of Gondor. He occassionally showed skills that none expected. Speaking Rhun's tongue was one of them. Proving a competent ruler when he had lived in the Wild most of his life was another. The Khan, on his stay in Minas Tirith after the War, had tried to find out as much as possible about the King.

"Umetuita," answered the Khan. "Dbora kupatahiijuu naharaka iwezekanavyo."

"These are Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, and Elmir, Lord of Anorien," answered Elessar.

"And these are Soldam, Chief Captain of my amy, and Hamilcar, mi General."

"It is a pleasure, gentlemen," answered Elessar looking at the officers. "If you please, we should continue having this conversation in the common tongue, so we can all follow it. Please, sit down. If you desire anything to eat or drink, you have only to take it."

After sitting down and waiting for everyone to do the same, the Khan said, still in his own tongue:

"I came here to speak with you, Elessar, not with your men. If they don't understand me when I speak in my own language, it's their loss. We are in Rhun, after all."

The King of Gondor showed no visible reaction to his words. He turned to his men and said to them that the conversation wouldn't be in the common tongue, but that he would translate. The captains of Gondor wanted to protest, but their King turned his attention quickly back to the Khan.

"Since we are in Rhun, I will grant your petition," he said.

"Since we are in Rhun, the foreigner should show more courtesy and prudence: he is, after all, with an army in a country not his own."

"And yet, my men have caused no harm to a person, animal, or even plant in your country," answered Elessar. "Whereas for months men from Rhun have attacked Gondor settlements: they have killed, destroyed and kidnapped my people to take them to your slave markets."

Hamrazan knew it. He had never given such an order, of course, at least not directly. He had just channelled the hatred and rage consuming his people, and the attacks on Gondor had simply come. And he was content. As long as his people directed their attention to their neighbours, as long as they poured all their anger on them, the anger of a people that was watching their children starve, they would not rebel.

As long as it was Gondor who paid the price and not him, he was content. And he was content to see the effect of those attacks on Elessar. He tried to appear cold and impassible, but the Khan could see beyond that. Elessar had an easy life: his people followed him everywhere, blinded by a ridiculous adoration; he didn't have to engage in futile battle with the earth and the rain to pull out famished food from the soil; he had peace inside his borders. Those attacks had made him come back to reality, bend his neck under the yoke of suffering and violence. Now, it was a matter of striking the final blow. That war would do it. His explorers had come back to him in the first lights of the morning, bringing the report on their enemies' army. Their counting showed that Rhun's numbers were two to one.

"What can I say? No doubt those who attacked your little settlements had their reasons."

"Maybe they thought they did," answered Elessar, and Hamilcar felt a surge of pleasure at the anger in his voice. It was veiled yet, but starting to show. "But they certainly did not have the right. If one lacks enough resources, asks for help, but doesn't take what is not his by force."

"You are wrong, Elessar, force and strength are the only things that allow you to survive. Showing them when it is necessary is what allows you to keep your head high. You know it well. Or have you not brought your army to my lands?"

"You intend to conquer mine," there it was, Elessar's wrath, clearer now. "Tell me what choice you left me."

"There is always a choice," said the Khan, with an imperceptible smile.

At his words, the anger abandoned Elessar's eyes. He exhaled softly and reclined back on his chair.

"You are right," he said. "That is why I asked you to come. I would like to avoid the war ahead. We could save time, money, and many lives. Especially lives, Hamrazan. I don't know what you expect to gain with this war, but we can make a deal now that will benefit both."

"And what are you willing to offer me?"

For a moment, the Khan felt Elessar's steel eyes bore into him. There was in them an strange vehemence, and the Khan was stabbed with exquisite pain in the deep of his soul. It wasn't a pain he wanted to escape from, because it was comforting in itself. He thought he must be trembling and it was a miracle if he didn´t falter. At last Elessar released him from his gaze and spoke:

"This is my proposal: Gondor doesn't have enough quarries. We build mainly with stone but our resources are dwindling. Whereas Rhun has great quarries that could supply the marble we need. In exchange, we will give you grain and fifty head of any livestock you want. We can discuss the details later."

In the face of that proposal, silence fell in the improvised tent. The men of Gondor followed with apprehension the conversation they did not understand, judging its course by the looks, gestures and tones. Now, they leaned over to their King, asking for a translation. He gave it to them, quick and brief. Hamilcar and Soldam had kept silent as well, observing Elessar closely, who remained unaffected by their sharp gazes. Now, they turned towards the Khan and whispered to him.

"We should at least consider the proposal," said Soldam, aware that the Khan's first inclination would be not to. It was far from the gains they expected from that war.

Indeed, neither Hamilcar nor Hamrazan thought, for a second, to accept it. The Khan waited for Elessar to finish the translation to his men and when the three of them turned to him, he said, still in his own tongue:

"If you really want to avoid the war, Elessar, I see only one way," he made a pause, and the King of Gondor looked expectantly at him. "One hundred thousand gold coins per year. Also one fourth of all your harvests, and two hundred sheep, goat and ox per year. Oh, and a hundred strong men and women to serve in our country."

Hamrazan knew well the accounts of the Treasure of Gondor, what were its resources and how much they produced. He knew what he was asking for. One hundred thousand gold coins was what Gondor produced in a year and a half. Their Treasury had reserves, but handing over that quantity would mean poverty. One fourth of their harvest would mean that in two years they would barely have enough to replant. In three years, there would be famine. In exchange of nothing.

"You dare to demand now what you could only ask if you defeated us in a long, expensive war?" said Elessar. He didn't bother to hide his anger, and at his side his two captains, who did not understand what had been said, looked at him with alarm. "And you think we would submit? With those conditions, you would never have peace. We would never accept them. We would never stop fighting against them."

"I know," said the Khan. "That is why it will be forbidden to carry weapons in Gondor."

To that, Elessar laughed: a bitter, reverberatin laugh.

"Hamrazan," he said. "You will never accomplish anything of this. Even if you defeated us in this war. Don't you know we have allies? In Arnor, where I am King also, they will never allow their brother kingdom to live thus subjected."

"They will," said the Khan, "they will if you come with us to Num. Your safety in exchange of the good behaviour of your people."

The King's tense smile turned to stone on his face, and he looked agape at the Khan. For a moment, his expression reminded Hamrazan of the paintings that used to decorate the temples of the Great Eye; paintings that would be there again in the new, rebuilt temples. They showed the torments of men and women who rebelled against Sauron. They were frequently shown surrounded by flames or in racks, or pierced by darts. Briefly, the Khan saw the same absent anguish from the paintings.

His captains turned fast to his King. They had deduced that the Khan had made an abusive proposal but up until that moment, they had seen the King keep the control of the conversation. They had just seen him lose it and back down before the Khan.

"What did he propose?"

Quickly, Elessar translated the Khan's conditions. All, except the last one. At that moment, he turned briefly his gaze towards the Khan and kept silent.

The effect of his words was instantaneous. Elmir stood up and said in a booming voice:

"Have you lost your mind? What makes you think we would accept such an agreement? We have showed too much patience, trying to spare you the massacre of your country. And you dare make this proposal? It is madness!"

"Your King is the one who wants to avoid the war. He should be the one making concessions," answered the Khan, standing up as well.

"Go away," Imrahill also stood up. The two officers of Rhun followed suit.

"Is that what the King wants? To waste the opportunity to avoid the war?" the Khan looked at Elessar, the only one who remained sitting.

"I am sorry, Hamrazan," he said slowly. "I truly am sorry. My offer to solve this conflict with words, not weapons, was honest. I will not allow you to mock us with your impossible conditions. Your already knew we could not accept them. If you don't want to accept our proposal, you should go away."

The only answer from the Khan was: "We'll see each other in the battlefield, then."

The King of Gondor nodded. "So be it."

The Khan and his two officers went back to their horses. They were about to ride when a shout stopped them.

"Hamrazan, wait," the Khan turned and, full of surprise, saw Elessar walk towards them. His captains looked at them with apprehension, hands on swords. In the distance, his guard came closer and gripped their swords. Hamilcar and Soldam grabbed theirs, carefully flanking the Khan.

But Elessar raised his hands, showing his empty palms. Contrary to what his apparent carelessness suggested, Hamrazan knew he didn't lose sight of the weapons of Rhun's officers and guards, and if he was coming closer it was because he knew they were not threat to him. He could face two, even three, well-trained opponents, and dodge the arrows that Rhun's guard could direct at him.

"Yes," answered the Khan.

"I would like to ask you something," said Elessar, frowning at the blazing sun that fell on them. His head was uncovered. "Razzham. It's been a year since he went back to Rhun, and I have heard no news from him, even though I asked him to send me word to know how he fared. How is he?"

The Khan looked puzzled at him, and took his time to answer. Elessar shaded his eyes from the sun and looked at him. "He is a good friend of mine."

Hamrazan nodded. He knew that.

"He is dead," he said.

He saw it wasn't entirely news to Elessar, but that it was a hard blow nonetheless. For a moment, his attention wavered, and the Khan saw the chance: the if at that moment he drew his sword King of Gondor could not react fast enough to avoid the blow. But Hamrazan hesitated and Elessar recovered.

"I am sorry," he said, and at the Khan's look of bafflement, he added: "he was your nephew, wasn't he?"

Hamrazan nodded. "Yes."

Elessar nodded with him, his gaze lost in memory. "He was a great man," he said with his voice full of emotion. "He was always smiling, always in a good mood. He was one of the few who really made me laugh. It takes a lot of courage to keep a smile in the face of adversity. Your nephew did."

Then Elessar's hand went to his belt. He carried there a small leather bag. He opened it and took something shiny from within.

"Please, accept this," he said, handing it to the Khan. "I know it is a custom of your country to place something of personal value in the resting place of the deceased, so they won't forget the otherson in the afterlife. Could you put this on his tomb?"

The Khan looked at it, and felt Hamilcar and Soldam leaning in to see what it was. Elessar had given him a gold ring with a seal carved with the Tree of Gondor.

"I tried to give it to him before he went away," said the King. "But he didn´t accept it."

Truly, to carry or even possess a ring like that in the last years would have been damning indeed. Showing any kind of affinity towards Gondor was prosecuted in Rhun. The Khan looked at Elessar and saw that he knew it and that he understood why Razzhan could not accept it.

"I would not like him to forget me, whenever he is," he said instead. There was no trace of accusation in his voice. Suddenly he smiled. "I have several like this one. It is not my signet ring, in case you were wondering."

To his surprise, the Khan felt a slight smile on his lips.

"Very well, I will do it," he said on an impulse, putting it in his pocket.

Then Elessar put his hand on his heart, his lips and his forehead and then offer it to the Khan, who repeated the gesture and shook it.

"Maagano," said Elessar, looking to Soldam and Hamilcar as well.

"Maagano," they answered.

And with these words, Elessar turned around and walked back to where his men waited.

"The devil," said Soldam. "What does he intend?"

"To confound us," said Hamilcar.

But Hamrazan didn't answer and rode away to where his guard stood, without waiting for them.

* * *

The Khan didn't wait a single day to attack. That afternoon, both armies faced each other in battle. Although Gondor's numbers were inferior, their greater height and efficient organization gave them the victory. The Khan's army withdrew hastily, leaving behind the wounded and the dead. Aragorn ordered his men to remove the bodies of both sides and to attent to Rhun`s wounded as if they were from Gondor.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"Thank you, Hamir," said Aragorn when he was free of his bloodied armour. He shed also his tunic and shirt, damp with sweat, and walked towards the basins his page had brought him. "Bring me soap as well, please."

He washed his hands and arms vigorously and rubbed his face. He had not been so shaken by a battle in a very long time. His hands trembled and his grip on the soap was slippery. Rhun's soldiers had thrown themselves to battle with such fervour. They hit and wounded his men with more than violence; they attacked with hatred, with a wild irrational hatred that had led to their defeat. They had barely been able to maintain an orderly position in battle.

He remembered, years ago, the baby of a Dunadan woman had fallen ill and died within months of being born. The woman had placed all her hopes on him, thinking that his hands would bring the healing. It had been a senseless hope, because he wasn't even aware of the situation. No one had asked him to go and save the child. It would have been impossible, since they could not have located him. Only by chance he entered that woman's village two weeks after the burial. When the woman saw his walk past her house, she went out, out of her mind, screaming and insulting him. She started to hit him with her fists and to cry in desperation. He had known the woman was out her mind with grief. He had held carefully her wrist to avoid any more blows and had tried to comfort her. He only had to let the woman cry on his shoulder for a while. In the end she calmed down, asked for forgiveness and invited him to her house.

At that moment, trying to remove the dirt from his skin, he felt as if he had answered the blows of that woman with some of his own.

"Hamir," he said when he put on fresh clothes. "If they ask after me, I will be in the healers' tent."

"Yes, Lord"

The place was flooded with the screams of the wounded, the smell of blood, the frenzy runs to and fro to save as many lives as possible, the shouts and tense orders of the healers to their assistants. There were fifty cots in the tent, all occupied. The less badly injured waited their turn sitting in whatever space they could find.

The men from Rhun lay outside the tent, on the floor.

"Lomec," Aragorn walked to the senior healer. "I ordered that the men of Rhun had to be tended to. What are they doing lying there?"

"There isn't enough space, Lord," he was panting and his voice faltered in desperation. "All these men," he pointed to all that were in the cots, "need immediate care or they will die. Many of our men need our care and we don't have space for them. And there is no time. I asked some assistants to keep an eye on them, but even they are attending to three men at the same time. We can't do anything more."

Aragorn raised his hand to calm him. The poor man was anxious because even in that short conversation, a soldier in his care was in danger: he was losing too much blood and was minutes away from the end of his life. And he was anxious because he had not obeyed his King. But he could not tend to a man of Rhun in place of a man of Gondor. Searching with his gaze, he saw that the other healers watched him out of the corner of the eye, but avoiding his gaze. No one had obeyed him and the men of Rhun lay without attention. But not one of them was able to let a soldier of Gondor die for them.

"Very well, Lomec, return to your work," he said out loud so that everyone could hear. He went to the back of the tent, feeling everyone's gazes on him. He filled a basin with hot water, and grabbing bandages, needle, thread and some herbs, he placed them under his arm and walked carefully outside the tent. He asked a guard to go and fetch Hamir, and put the basin on the floor.

He chose a patch of ground with no stones and stretched his cloak on it. He then turned around and leaned over one of the men from Rhun. He had a cut on his abdomen and was unconscious. At his side, a man with an arrow on his leg looked perplexed at him.

"Help me," said Aragorn in his language. But the man looked blankly at him. Aragorn grabbed one arm of the unconscious man. "Help me to put him there."

At last the other reacted and together laid the unconscious man on Aragorn's cloak. He took away his armour, washed his wound and stitched it. Hamir came and helped him bringing water, medicines, thread, bandages. A tense silence spread among those wounded that were conscious and the healers. The presence of the King caused a strong impression. The men from Rhun knew he was not a healer because his clothes were different, rich and of excellent quality. Besides, everyone looked at him with too much respect. Even the guards and the soldiers that walked by stopped and looked at him.

Aragorn knelt by the side of a soldier that still had his helmet on. When he removed it, he saw the gaze of a boy with barely a trace of a beard. There were people who could not bear the life of a soldier and Aragorn saw that this boy was one of them.

"What is your name?" Aragorn place his hand on the forehead of the young man.

"Vozam."

"Well, Vozam," said Aragorn speaking on his tongue. "I want you to calm down. You have an injury on your side but it is not fatal. I am going to wash it and put some bandages on."

He spoke to him through the whole process about unimportant things in an even voice.

He healed many that evening as it faded into night. He was told that some wounded from Rhun, those who could walk, had left, and he ordered to not stop them. He wanted no prisoners.

The Khan was the only one who was calm. Two days had passed since the battle and his officers were still discussing strategies, scrutinizing past mistakes, going increasingly mad at their soldiers, cursing their ineptitude, and prepared new plans.

"While they are still up there, we have a strategic advantage that we can't overcome," the Khan rose and walked around his two officers. They had left the suffocating tent. The evening breeze freed the air from mid-day's heavy heat and stirred the clothes softly. It rustled the canvas of their tents in the valley. In the distance, Gondor's tents could be seen, small as ants.

"How can we make them abandon that place?" Soldam was, by far, the most enraged of the three.

"We can't," the Khan crossed his arms, observing the tiny spots that were the soldiers of Gondor. He had for the last two days looked at the situation from every angle, coming up with strategies, weighting their plausibility. "Which leaves us with subtler methods."

Hamilcar rose and stood before him. "We could cut their water supply. We could poison their well."

"Then they will open another," said Soldam.

"Does any of you know anything about the history of their country?" asked the Khan.

Neither of them knew what to say to the abrupt turn in their conversation.

"Not much," said Hamilcar.

Soldam shook his head.

"Gondor, until the Great War, had been ruled by Stewards," started the Khan. "The King that arrived in their darkest and most desperate hour became some sort of god to them." The Khan remembered his days in the White City after the War and shook his head. "Not a god, no. They believe in some deities, the Valar, and they thought their King had been sent by them to save them. They worshipped him. He was made their only light in the darkness. He still is. His people would follow that light anywhere. They think that as long as they have him, there is no power on earth that could rival Gondor, and they fight with the firm belief that they will never be defeated. That's why they aren't. We must extinguish that light, so they go back to the shadows. We must kill Elessar."

"How?" Soldam leaned back on his chair.

"That is what we must discuss here," said the Khan.

There was barely any movement around. The soldiers of Rhun were resting, or look for entertainment far from the Khan's tent. The world looked empty at that moment.

"Poison," said Hamilcar.

"We would have to infiltrate their camp," said Soldam. "And who can do it? Not one of us would pass off as a man of Gondor. They are very pale and their head is uncovered. Besides, they will be very careful with his food."

"Someone could infiltrate their camp in the night. Kill him while he sleeps. Or while he is bathing. When he is vulnerable," said Hamilcar.

"He would have guards," answered Soldam. "Did you not see him during the battle?" Did you not see his guard? They are more than a hundred, and they take their eyes off him for a moment. And he is surrounded by an entire army. We would have to go past the soldiers guarding the perimeter of the camp, walk through it without being seen and then go past his personal guard, whose only missing is to protect him and not let any danger befall him. And as for the one chosen for the task: what will he wear? Our clothes? Impossible. Theirs? And how can we get hold of them? And on the head? He would have to cover his features and colour of skin, but he can't wear a headcloth, or one of their helms, because it would be suspicious. They only wear them during battle."

"Maybe someone here has a pale skin," said Hamilcar trying to remember. "Don't we have any of their bastards? A son of a slave from the West? If not from Gondor, at least from Rohan?"

"Maybe," said the Khan. He sat down again. "We will look for him. What else can we do?"

"We could wait until he exits their camp."

"I think that is unlikely," said the Khan. "I don't think they will let him."

"But he can walk close to the edges of their camp. If we hide archers in the Rocky Pass, they could shoot and kill him from afar."

The Khan nodded. "Yes. We need to gather information as to his movements anyway. Send spies and archers to the Rocky Pass. They will hide themselves in the higher passes and watch him. If they have opportunity, they must shoot. They will report his movements to us. What he does, how many guards watch him, who is in charge of his food and whether someone tries it before him; at what time he gets up, he goes to sleep, at what times he is alone and for how long. I want to know everything he does. The best must go. I'm sure their guards will try to make sure that no one goes near their camp. We must be careful. And let's look for someone who can pass off as one of them."

Two weeks. Two weeks since the battle, and absolutely nothing had happened. Aragorn knew that they had to do something soon. But he could not attack yet. He had received no news from the rest of his army.

And the Khan seemed as undecided as him. He must have learned his lesson, and would not go near them as long as they were in the higher ground. But neither had he tried to do anything else. No message, no mad demand for surrender. His spies had seen no one from Rhun leaving their camp: neither person nor messenger bird. Nothing. It disturbed and relieved him on equal measure.

If he knew at least when the rest of his troops would arrive. With his pipe on his lips, Aragorn left his tent and wandered among those that surrounded his. He saw immediately out of the corner of his eye that two of his guards were following him at a respectful distance, and were looking around expecting maybe to see a threat in the quiet camp. The only thing that could be heard were the voices and blows coming from the training field.

He leaned on an olive tree and turned his gaze to the Rocky Pass. He looked at the high peaks and thought that they were at least a mile high. From there one could see at least eight leagues around. The rest of his army should have left Cair Andros several days ago. A week almost, according to plan. They should be arriving and they should be seen from that height.

Someone should climb that to see if they would be arriving soon.

Of course, he should send a ranger. He should call the captain of rangers so he could choose the best suited for the task. He was King. His duty was to make the decisions and let others carry them.

He inhaled deeply and let the smoke escape slowly between his lips.

A King should not be risked in dangerous missions that almost anyone could do.

But he had been a ranger longer than a king. He had faced bigger dangers long before any soldier under his command had even been born. He had been the Heir, but his rangers had never tried to push him aside when there was danger, because they respected his skills. There were times he wished his guards did too. Everyone in Gondor valued his judgement, his strategies, his decisions as if Manwe himself had spoken, and he felt honoured by it. They took care that he was in no danger, and he felt grateful. But there were times when he felt that he had to prove that he wasn't a deteriorated old man, that he was still able to fight with vigour and skill, to climb, to walk and ride long distances without fatigue. None of his forefathers had lived as long as he had. He didn't know how much time he still had with power on his members, and he longed to use the strength and ability he still had. He had climbed the highest peaks of the Misty Mountains, of the Mountains of Shadow, through places that no man had ever dared to cross, without ropes, using only the strength of his arms and his legs. Were those times behind him?

No.

He inhaled the rest of the tobacco with a firm decision in his heart. He had two options now: face imrahil, Emdil, the captain of his guard and of the rangers, tell them his decisions and argue with them long and hard because he knew they would not approve. Or he could sneak out at night and come back before dawn without anyone knowing; see if he could see in the distance the fires of his army getting nearer, and satisfy his juvenile –he had to admit it– urges to prove that he was still capable of great deeds.

He went back to his tent. Maybe those feelings were not worthy of him. Maybe he was making a big mistake.

At the slightest sign of danger, I will stop, he decided. I will come back immediately and no one will ever know. If I don't tell anyone now, no one will witness my humiliation if I can't do it.

The stars shone with no cloud to encumber them. The moon illuminated the sharp rocks of the Pass, the looming towers of granite that rose up to the sky. At their feet, narrow paths wound up and down between the ravines, crossed by solitary lizards. Here and there, the rocks formed small caverns where men of Rhun hid, watching closely Gondor's camp.

One of them saw a movement below him: the figure of a man walked towards him. He studied his face and immediately left his hiding place. He crept silently to where, fifty yards to his right, his closest companion watched.

His unexpected arrival alarmed him.

"What is the matter?"

"He is coming here."

"Who?"

"Elessar."

His hoarse voice lit up his companion's eyes like coals. The mere mention of that name was enough to stir up hate. And Elessar was walking towards them, presumably unaware of their presence.

"I am going to warn the Khan. As soon as the gets here, follow him and mark your steps. If you have the opportunity, kill him. Otherwise, wait until I come back with help. If you see him return to his camp, try to stop him by any means necessary."

"Is he armed?"

"He carries a dagger."

The first half of the climb was barely a challenge for Aragorn. The paths disappeared sometimes, but reappeared after a manageable climb. But the great monoliths that crowned the Pass dampened his skin with sweat and tore the fabric of his trousers and opened up the skin of his palms. Since when had his palms become so soft? They used to be calloused, with barely a patch of skin intact.

He reached the top panting and gasping, and what he saw there filled him with hope. Not only was it the majesty of the great valleys down below him, the height he had conquered, the moon that covered everything in a silver glow, the wind that caressed and refreshed and filled him with life; it was the distant glow of a thousand torches. The fires of his army.

He laughed out loud. The only ones that could hear him were the falcons and eagles that soared the skies. But he had to find a way to tell his men that in less than two days the rest of his army would arrive at last. He smiled and not even thinking in that awkward conversation erased his good mood.

He waited until the wind started to cut his flesh and then began the downward journey. He had known that would be one of the hardest parts, but he had failed to foresee how much. He only reached the end by maintaining a painful concentration on each crevice in which to support hand and foot.

For this reason, he did not hear the steps behind him, or the hissing the air made when it was violently sliced.

He wasn't ready for the sharp blow on his back. With a cry, he lost his footing and fell. Fell the last yards and the impact with the ground robbed the air from his lungs. But he knew he had no time to gasp for air again, to recover his wits and weight the danger. He only had his instinct and, like a trapped animal, leaped on the figure he saw on the corner of his eye.

Both men fell to the floor, and Aragorn saw, briefly, the headcloth that covered the face of the man. An agent of the Khan. He was the first to recover and threw a punch at Aragorn's jaw. With his mouth filled with blood, he barely had enough wit to draw his dagger. He blocked two blows from the other's sabre, and after the third, he tried to deliver one of his own, but the man of Rhun dodged it and, grabbing his forearm, twisted his wrist until he had to let go of his dagger.

Aragorn had underestimated him. His opponent didn't have the basic training of Rhun's foot soldiers. He was fast and agile, and knew moves that Aragorn had only seen in Elves and those trained by them. He was also stronger than his lean form suggested. Idiot, ten times stupid and moron, he said to himself. You have grown complacent; did you think the Khan would not set spies to watch you? And he had walked out of his camp as it he had gone for a stroll in his gardens.

A strong kick to his stomach turned his attention back to the present. Now wasn't the time for regrets, or for making the same mistake. He could not afford to be overconfident.

The man kept hitting him, but Aragorn finally managed to grab his leg and make him fall beside him. He was, however, fighting for breath between shots of pain, and the other man got back up again quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw the sabre's glint, and knew he only had one chance to kill his opponent. The man of Rhun walked slowly towards him, his sable in position. Aragorn climbed to his knees, panting. Just one chance.

He followed his movements. Both hands on the hilt of his sabre, raised arms, elbows pointing outwards. He meant to behead him, and that move would leave his body unprotected.

Aragorn had to be faster than him.

The sabre started the long, circular move towards his neck, and Aragorn leaped to grab his dagger. The sabre had started his descent on him, but Aragorn's dagger had left his hand and sank to the hilt on the man of Rhun's chest.

Aragorn rolled to avoid the blade falling on him. Trembling, he got up and leaned on a rock, and stayed there, panting heavily. Once, brushes with death had been a daily affair. However, he had become accustomed to the peace, and not even the battle two days prior had shaken him so. Nor did he recall a time when seeing death so close had affected him like this.

For the last twelve years, he had been sheltered from danger and violence, and his old instincts were dormant, but they were starting to wake up, pulsating through each nerve on his body. They were warning him that he was still in danger.

He could not see them, or hear them, but he could feel them. He could sense a dozen men behind him. He reached for the fallen man's sabre and turned to them, as fast as his tired muscles allowed him.

They were thirteen in total. Their faces were covered; some had unsheathed their sabres, others pointed at him with bows. They surrounded him slowly, confidently, because in an instant, he would have no way to escape. The wall of rock he had just climbed stood behind him.

He watched warily those that pointed their arrows at him, each from a different direction. A part of his mind registered the orders one of them gave.

"Dead or alive," he said in Rhun's tongue. "Alive he may be a source of information, but dead is how the Khan wants him, and he wants proof. Kosh, try to wound him on his right arm, so he can't defend himself."

But Aragorn was faster than him. He twisted his body and with a movement of his wrist, deflected the arrow.

"I can hear you," he said to the man who had spoken. "And I can understand you. Go now, or you will not return alive. My guard is about to arrive."

Slowly, not taking his eyes off the men, he bent over the man he had just killed and retrieved his dagger from his chest.

The laugh that answered him was not mocking, but neither was it merry or had any joy in it. It was just a calm, even laugh.

"If you can understand me, you'll know that the Khan wants your head. Spare yourself the pain of the fight and the shame of defeat. Face your end with honour, and don't try to flee cowardly from death."

"I shall give you nothing," answered Aragorn. "Anything you get from me, or Gondor, will have to be taken by force. So if that's what you want, come for me."

He wasn't sure his words would have the desired effect, but so it proved to be. The soldiers of Rhun came closer and attacked him with their blades. As long as they were engaged in close combat, the archers would not shoot. If he could hold his ground, he could face nine armed men, but he could not win against four archers.

And he made it. Or at least made it for a few minutes. He managed to keep them at bay, but they broke his defence for a moment, and he received a blow to his shoulder. He lost his balance and couldn't deflect the next blow. A punch to his chin knocked him down and he fell to the ground.

He studied in an instant the possibilities still open to him. He was outnumbered, his opponents were well trained and he was completely surrounded. He knew his defeat was inevitable. In his mind, there was only one last desperate possibility.

He gathered all his energy and rose to his feet with a cry. He blandished his dagger and leaped against the two men on his right. He buried it on one man's chest, but didn't stop his impulse, and crashed against the other.

The man didn't expect the move, and could not react in time to stop him. Together, they fell and rolled.

Aragorn knew what was behind that man. He had seen it from above, while he was descending. The platform ended, and after several feet, a group of rocks formed again a new path, not too wide, that ended in a deep ravine, the end of which could not be seen.

They both shouted when their bodies hit the rocks. Aragorn could stop his fall, but cursed when his opponent did as well, and didn't plunge to his death.

Standing quickly, they engaged in combat with renewed violence, and Aragorn could hear the shouts of surprise and rage of the rest of his enemies. He knew that in mere instants, they would be behind him, and that they would stand in the higher ground. What he had done had only been a desperate measure to delay his defeat.

What happened next, however, he could not have foreseen. The rocks under him protested and trembled, and both men fell down. Horrified, Aragorn realised that the ground was giving way beneath them, and that they only had one final moment before falling into the abyss.

Beyond the violence and hate, Aragorn could see the eyes of his opponent, the only visible part of his face. He realised that he was merely a boy, of little more than twenty years of age, and that he was scared, reflecting back the same apprehension that gnawed at his heart. They had no time.

And the earth disappeared under them. With a cry, the young man fell, but Aragorn was closer to the wall, and in a desperate attempt, he managed to grab hold of a little protruding rock; and for an instant, he remained suspended.

"Don't let him fall! Grab him! We must take his head to the Khan!"

Aragorn raised his eyes and saw several soldiers rush towards him. Their hands grabbed his wrist, but it was too late. He had started to fall, and his enemies could not hold him. He fell, and the darkness swallowed him.


End file.
